A Very RENT Thanksgiving
by DreamerChick
Summary: Just a little ficlet of the holiday nature. Just a month and one day before the events of the play, Mark and Roger realize that they have much to be thankful for. FRIENDSHIP Mark and Roger


A/N: Just a random little Thanksgiving piece. Christmas may be starting earlier and earlier but still, Thanksgiving happens. So, enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving all my people who celebrate it

Is Multi-Verse (Movie,Stage, little mention of stuff/people/lines from NYTW- and Mark is more is NYTW self – he's much more bitter and moody in the 'rough draft' ...everyone is)

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, they belong to the all powerful Larson. I'm just borrowing and will put them back where they belong when I'm done. Or will I?

Thursday, November 23rd 1989, 9 AM EST

"Morning Roger." Mark called in the direction of the rock-star's bedroom, not expecting an answer, as he stumbled blindly through the loft to the bathroom where he'd left his glasses after a much needed shower the night before.

He also didn't expect to see his roommate asleep on the couch, faithful notebook in tattooed hand, left hand smeared in ink. Genius must have been burning.

_That's a good sign_, Mark thought. He found the tossed off thread-bare blanket and re-covered the rocker, who looked so innocent in sleep that it was hard to believe he had just a few months ago been raging for "Just one hit. Just one FUCKING hit" and upon repeated denial, had taken to calling Mark every name under the sun and following each of those names with blows. The fits of rage had subsided, to be replaced by sleepless nights , and the dreaded tremors and , left weak by all this, Roger had settled into a state of something very close to depression as the gravity of the note April had left and how she had left finally sunk in. Calling it "Depression" would have made Mark feel like he should be scrimping for not only A.Z.T but Prozac or it's generic as well.

And Mark couldn't scrimp any more. He was flat out broke. Thank God for Benny and his generous offer that they were "golden" and could live rent-free in the loft. Whatever money he still had from before his folks "cut him off" ( he knew in a pinch his mother would come through but he was determined not to use her) was dwindling. Occasionally, like all good starving artist/college dropouts, he took an odd job here and there, but had been forced to quit his last one – busboy at the Life Cafe – when Roger had started his withdrawals. And obviously Roger's chances of holding down a job were next to nothing. His old buddy Dave had called, offering a bar-tending job at the Pyramid Club but that had ended before it started. Roger hardly ever left the loft of his own accord anymore. He'd have been fired for non-attendance within a week . So , a "thanks but no thanks" had been given on his behalf.

Just then the phone rang. _It has to be Mom, _he thought. Sure enough, within 2 rings, there was the familiar outgoing message of "Speeeeeeeeeak" and then his mother's shrill voice.

"Mark, honey, it's Mom. I know it's early but if you could please answer the phone...Okay, well, just calling to wish you and your roommate a Happy Thanksgiving. Your father and I will miss you today. Maybe you could come down and bring Maureen and Roger for Christmas. Cindy will be down with her kids and I'm sure they'd love to see their uncle Mark. Anyway, count your blessings and call your mother. Happy Thanksgiving. Love Mom." And there was the satisfying "click" of the phone being hung up.

"Thanksgiving...Bah. No turkey, no stuffing, no heat in the building, no job prospects and my girlfriend left me for a lawyer. A lawyer named Joanne." Mark said to no one. His tone was more than bitter. Sometimes, Mark wondered what the hell he had to be thankful for.

He looked at Roger, who was still sleeping deeply, decided it was okay to leave him for a while, and gathered up his camera and notebook- the fresh air would do him good, he reasoned, after being cooped up for about 5 months now. Hopefully_ this_ screenplay would be the one to end his life of 'starving artist.' and he'd finally have an answer to the question his mom asked every time he actually talked to her "So are you showing?"

"Not this year." He answered the question aloud with an air of resignation as he wrapped the beloved scarf around his neck and slowly slid open the door just enough to squeeze through and slid it shut just as quietly.

XXX

He returned a few hours later, around 11, feeling better about his and Roger's circumstances and feeling slightly sheepish at his earlier bitter comments. He felt even more so when he slid open the door and found Roger standing at the stove, back toward the door. It was obvious he was cooking.

"Hey, Rog."

Startled, Roger jumped a few inches. "Hey man, where'd you go?"

"Filming, writing." He held up his notebook and camera. "I'd have told you but you were asleep."

"Yeah. I feel asleep writing something last night. I actually was in tune with my right brain for a minute there."

"How did that go?"

"I had the map, but I lost it. So, I decided to use my left brain and start cooking something. It _is _Thanksgiving after all."

"What did we have?"

"Not much. I went shopping- there was a little bodega open still on D and 6th. I had a few dollars stashed away from...before I quit. It wasn't much but it got us some really last minute chicken...it's almost turkey." The rocker shrugged and smirked, his turquoise eyes full of sheepish delight.

"Wow... You left the loft? As in stepped into the outside? Thanks Roger. Want some help?"

"Yeah...I have no clue what I'm doing and I'm not so sure this oven won't blow up."

They worked in companionable silence while they made a mix and match dinner- chicken, some tomato soup from who-the-hell-knew-when-it was bought and some beer.

Mark sat down at the table and fully expected Roger to do the same. Instead, he stood,beer raised in toast, holding his notebook open. This was obviously what he'd been working on last night.

"A Toast to Mark Cohen, the one constant through out all of this hell that is withdrawal. You could've bowed out man. You could've left my ass in some cold, unfeeling rehab center. Instead, you stuck around. I don't remember much about the really rough days but I remember enough to know I was a real fucker sometimes. So, I'm sorry first and foremost. But mainly, today and everyday, I'm grateful to have you as my brother."

Mark, now feeling about three inches tall, felt tears in his eyes but refused to shed them. Instead, he stood as well.

"And I'm beyond grateful to have you as my best friend and brother. And,even though I was feeling a little like we didn't have much to be thankful for, after walking around outside and seeing how many people have less, I'm truly able to see how much we do have. It's hodge podge and we are dirt broke. But, we have four walls, a roof, food...of questionable origin sometimes but food none the less. So, even though we have no heat, my girlfriend left me for woman, and we have little to no disposable income we do have much to be thankful for today and everyday."

"Cheers, man, cheers." Roger said and the two embraced briefly. Mark chuckled softly to himself. He may not have had much but at least he had ...he looked across the table at Roger, who was looking better than he had in a long time, and at the loft he called home in all its disheveled glory...this. At least he had _this._

XXX

HAPPY THANKSGIVING ONE AND ALL!

It may not seem like it but remember there is still much to be grateful for.

Enjoy this little piece. I'm working on Christmas fic next and then it's back to work on my original stuff.


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